


You Slept So Long, So Sweet, My Demon

by WaldosAkimbo



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Awake The Snake, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Consensual Somnophilia, Crowley Has Two Penises (Good Omens), M/M, Post Lockdown, Sleep Sex, Somnophilia, mentioned briefly that he has a vulva, wakey wakey snakey snakey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:01:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25020562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaldosAkimbo/pseuds/WaldosAkimbo
Summary: July is here and Crowley has agreed that Aziraphale can come round to his place to check up on him. Make sure he wakes up. Could even have a little fun if Crowley's still asleep.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 16
Kudos: 217
Collections: Gather Ye Sinners for GOmens RP Collection





	You Slept So Long, So Sweet, My Demon

_“Well, even if the alarm’s set, doesn’t mean it’s gonna_ work _, Angel.”_

The door clicks open as Aziraphale presses his fingers against it, gliding open on well-greased hinges. It should be quite heavy, all things considered, but that’s never really been an issue. It is cool, which comes as a blessing to the muggy heat outside, and it is dark. Of course its dark.

_“But you could…check up on me? See if I’m….”_

He passes by the now familiar statue, hoisting the little picnic basket up higher, hoisting his heart up a _little_ higher. There’s no point in denying the last month has been a test of wills and wants. How bitter to be alone through all of the madness of the world, yet how sweet their reunion could be. And better, because—

_“You have my permission.”_

_“I do?”_ _Aziraphale had asked into the receiver, his voice warbling with an unexpected heat at the little tip of their_ other _…arrangement._

_Their call had picked back up after Crowley did all his little rituals to get ready for bed. Not dissimilar to what humans did, though he neglected to brush his teeth or floss or shower or anything. He liked changing out his clothes, picking his sleep wear both for opulence and style. He liked shouting at his plants. He liked grabbing a pillow and throwing it too hard at the ceiling, climbing up after it, then flopping to the wall. He liked spreading himself out on an overly plush bed and think about touching himself and then didn’t, which made him both more excited and more exhausted in equal measure._

_Crowley sounded exhausted there, at the beginning of their call. Even at the end, actually. All wrung out, and Aziraphale had a sneaking suspicion it was because he had denied Crowley’s presence at his bookshop, though_ read between the lines, dear boy _! Could_ not _have been clearer!_

He could, in fact, be clearer. But that wasn’t his way. He needs to work on it and this pandemic has offered plenty of time on self-reflection and working on blind spots, but he rather likes baking and less likes focusing on his foibles. There is a damn fine summery strawberry-lemon cake in the basket.

_“If I’m not awake….”_

_“Oh. Crowley.”_

_“Leave you alone with it. Just a thought. You’d…you’d be gentle about it?”_

_“Always!”_

_“Yeah. You would. Something to, y’know, preoccupy you. ‘Stead of flour. How d’you get on getting some anyways? Heard the shops were running out?”_

_“Very easily.”_ This was a lie. _“I’d show you, you know.”_ This was almost breaking. _“But we’d best not. Social distancing.”_ This was saying goodnight.

The atrium is a little brighter than the foyer, as Crowley would have made it so all his terrified plants got some sun while he was out. Not out of the flat, mind you. He is in a room over, if he’s skipped past his alarms. Aziraphale isn’t even sure which he preferred in this instant, his body thrumming with a mixture of trepidation and excitement and desire that squiggles around his guts. The handle of the basket squeaks beneath his iron-tight grip. It should have snapped and splintered, but it takes the brunt of his worried abuse with aplomb.

The door, same as the one guarding the flat, slides open too easily and Aziraphale’s shoes hardly make a sound on the smooth concrete flooring. He does, though. Oh, he _gasps_ at the sight before him. He expected…he isn’t sure what he expected. He expected _something_ and it sails right out of him with that gasp. That low, throaty sigh.

Sleeping habits of demons is not at all a common or well-studied affair. Really only of them does it and he rarely does it well. Remember the ceiling. And the wall. But he has, over the month, migrated back to the bed and is all softly splayed out, stuck in a beautiful stasis of serenity. Completely disconnected from the hurts of the world.

Aziraphale finds his feet again and steps into the room, swinging the door shut on its ridiculous spinning mechanism. He sets the basket down on the immaculately clean dresser and crosses the room to sit on the bed.

It’s warmer here, near Crowley. Must be the anticipation and Aziraphale tugs at his bowtie, loosening it and then simply pulling it apart so it’s much less tight around his throat. The collar, too, he unbuttons. Aziraphale then rolls up his sleeves, his coat hanging near the door in the foyer where he had left it earlier.

“Dearest.”

Aziraphale leans forward and brushes back unruly hair. Crowley’s let it grow some in his sleep, the beautiful devil. He could shave it all off and he’d still be beautiful. But this is quite nice, too, brushing it gently off his cheek, the wisps curling at the nape of his naked neck.

The rest of him, it should be said, is naked as well. Right down under the wine-colored sheets. What in the world had happened to his sleepwear? Had he been plan—

Aziraphale wets his lips and leans over, breathing in the smoky aroma of the demon he loves with his entire being.

“Are you awake?”

Crowley doesn’t stir. Of course he doesn’t. Even as Aziraphale pets down the back of his head, slipping his fingers over the little dimples around his spine, his shoulders, and flat across his shoulder blades. His skin is so beautifully warm, a furnace, a dry heat that makes Aziraphale’s palm tingle.

“You’ve missed quite a bit, dear boy. I can’t wait to tell you all about it.”

He leans closer yet and noses at the crook of Crowley’s jaw, planting a nice, chaste kiss there for the occasion.

“They get into such fits. You’ll be surprised.” His hands travelled further down Crowley’s backside, under the sheets, and scoops up one little cheek, giving it a comforting squeeze. “Or you won’t be, I suppose. Knowing you. You’ll have expected this then, hmm?”

Crowley is so pliant beneath his hands as Aziraphale brushes his cheek, inhaling that powdery smoke again, and shifts himself further up onto the mattress. He’s toed off his own shoes, left them next to the bed, and crawls himself to a kneeling position. He squeezes Crowley’s cheeks, still under cover, a surprise to be unwrapped as a gift for his patience while they are apart.

“I missed you so much,” Aziraphale admits, because it’s always easier to admit in the dark and the quiet, with that secret wish twinned together that Crowley did and did not hear him. “I wonder if you had any pleasant dreams?”

To supply Crowley with further pleasant dreams, Aziraphale’s plump fingers are suddenly damp and cool and he slides two of them to Crowley’s entrance, teasing him. Circling him. Aziraphale wets his lips again, shivering in the dark.

“Crowley,” he tries once more, just in case. Always good to check. His demon simply shifts his arms under his pillow a little to cradle his head and remains limp and docile. The room brightens, just a bit, as Aziraphale glows with happiness.

There is no time now to think of how often Aziraphale thought of this, even during the short time between their phone call and this reunion. There is no time to think of how often he tore open the buttons of his trousers and gripped himself or plunged needy fingers into soaking wet folds, simply because he wanted and wanted and would not deign to give himself a chance to visit any earlier. They had agreed on July. It was imperative he keep to said agreements or else it was all pure chaos and the world was in chaos enough these days without one hedonistic angel of the world adding to it.

Watching his steady breathing, Aziraphale waits for him to inhale before he digs his fingers into Crowley, his own hips rocking in anticipation. He moans like he’s already got his cock in him. Inspired by such thoughts, Aziraphale fusses with his fly, a bit shaky trying to tear his trousers down, until he manages to free himself and pulls his cock out, already heavy and weeping precome onto his hand.

Should have packed a spare set of pants. Ah, but he had been in a hurry.

Relief was short lived as he hears the soft squelching from his miraculously lubed fingers, undercut with the softest moan. Does Crowley’s legs part for him or was it Aziraphale who did that? He leans down, his lips hovering over Crowley’s spine, listening again. Either for moan, for breath, for complain, for the static pop of Crowley’s essence responding to these ministrations.

Crowley’s already so loose. It’s the relaxation of so much sleep, of being this beautiful soft puddle under his fingers, waiting for Aziraphale to come ravage him in the dark.

“Oh, _Crowley_.”

There’s a tremor, of nails digging into bedding, not nearly strong enough to tear or rend but that little _waking up_. Aziraphale steadies himself and waits as he watches the line of muscle up Crowley’s back spasm and relax.

“I’ve got you,” he whispers reverently and touches his lips to Crowley’s hip before he sits back and tosses the bedding away from them with a bit of a dramatic flourish.

There surely is a better way to go about this. But Crowley is languishing ahead of him, stark naked, his little tush so plump, so beautiful, shiny at the seam where Aziraphale’s already touched him. And it might be more pleasurable if Crowley can rut against his bedding in his sleep, but Aziraphale selfishly wants to look at his face and this moment, this arrangement, he can be a little selfish. He can take.

_You have my permission_.

The voice is fleeting, simply a memory, but it’s still Crowley’s and it’s still true and Aziraphale smiles. He is strong, isn’t he? Won’t be that hard.

After Aziraphale flips Crowley around, scooping the demon up into his arms and kissing the top of his head, he lays him right back out again so he’s comfortable on his back, his legs spread out beside Aziraphale’s. Must have been good and gentle with his fingers because Crowley doesn’t so much as stir and that delightful little slit between his legs has engorged, red, his cocks blooming out to stand in the cool air.

Oh, he must have a taste! To come all this way and _not_ enjoy would be a waste. And, well, he’d skipped a meal just to be here on time – time was entirely relevant, and it was simply the date they agreed upon, but he needs to make his excuses wherever he can.

Holding the bottom cock in hand, gently running his thumb up and down the underside of it, Aziraphale draws himself closer with his mouth wide open and tongue flat, ready, accepting. He wraps his lips directly around the head of the first, moaning as he slides easily down the length to the edge of his own grip, moaning at the taste he’s missed well beyond oysters and closed sushi restaurants and everything taken away during this dull time, _moaning_ against everything that is _Crowley_. He sucks, milking Crowley with lips and tongue, lapping him up as his nose nudges along the second cock. He pulls off when Crowley’s breathing hitches, his stomach sinking quickly, then back up again, and waits just a moment before he takes the second cock into his mouth and gives it the same attention.

When he pulls off a second time, his lips swollen and damp with the bitter salt of Crowley, he closes his eyes a moment and draws his fingers across the part of his mouth. He nearly sucks his own fingers, but catches himself, and looks down at a blushing demon in his wine-dark-sea bedding, still fast asleep.

Scooping Crowley’s hips up again, the slope of his spine more string than bone, he draws Crowley near and guides him up onto Aziraphale’s hips. Shifting himself, _gripping_ himself, Aziraphale guides his cock between Crowley’s cheeks and moans far too loud when he begins to spear into him. It’s a delicious, dark warmth and it ignites in him like holy fire.

The demon, beautiful and soft and perfect, makes such easy room for him. He can see that Crowley’s hips are bone white where Aziraphale is gripping him and there’s a quick thought to apologize for bruising later as Aziraphale presses himself over Crowley and begins to thrust. Truly he must do everything. Crowley is there for the experience, even if he is still asleep for it. He is there for Aziraphale, to use and love and fill, and Azirphale is quickly panting his name as he thrusts, again, again. Again!

The tenuous grasp of sleep is dissolving, because Crowley’s mouth begins to press into a line and his eyebrows twitch down. Aziraphale runs his fingers across Crowley’s chest, catching a little fistful of dark curly hair and is shocked when a hand covers his own.

“ _Crowley_.”

“Nnhg.”

“Oh, Crowley, Crowley, I missed—! I love—!”

He kisses Crowley, who is still so sleep-drunk that his mouth takes a moment to match and then there are teeth on his lips, a love bite as Crowley suddenly bucks and tightens, shocked into a touchless release that splashes across his stomach and stains up the front of Aziraphale’s shirt.

Half a dozen thrusts of his own and Aziraphale is flush against him, twitching and releasing, filling him up. He slows, but doesn’t quite still until every last drop of his seed his spent and even then, he is just gently rocking Crowley, who has sobbed Aziraphale’s name into his collar twice.

“I’ve got you,” Aziraphale repeats, a promise, a declaration. His hands curl around the nape of Crowley’s neck. “I’m here.”

Crowley’s not here for words, not yet, but he grips Azirpahale’s arm and whines until the angel pulls out, letting him leak on the bed, his neck taught while he adjusts to being empty once more.

“Crowley?” The demon still hasn’t said anything and looking at him, a sweaty, cum-filled mess, he worries he has over done it. He worries he should get up, but Crowley has curled his arm possessively around Aziraphale’s arm.

“G’morn’,” he mumbles and gently bites Aziraphale’s arm, a curious little habit when he’s overstimulated and wants the tactile sensation to ground him.

“Good morning.” Aziraphale calms and brushes Crowley’s hair back. “Did you sleep well, my dearest?”

“Mmm.” He kisses the spot where he’s just bitten and nuzzles Aziraphale. “Had…really good dream.”

“Did you?”

“Just now, yeah.”

Aziraphale chuckles when he sees Crowley’s little blissful smile and kisses his damp forehead. “I’ll get us some tea and clean you up?” But Crowley tugs and Aziraphale leans over to accept his kiss instead, pulled onto the messy mattress. They can clean up later. They have time. They have so much time now.

**Author's Note:**

> From the Sinner's RP Server, one of our tempresses suggested Somnophillia fic for AwaketheSnake and I just...very much had to write one, too. 
> 
> You can check out our server if you are 18+:
> 
> [here](https://discord.gg/QkPJ4sH)


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